Page 50 of A Highland Bride Disciplined (Scottish Daddies #2)

A scream of anguish rang in his ears, followed closely by another. The clip-clop of hooves and the clash of metal sounded, blocking out the one voice he was listening for, the one person he needed to find.

“Archer!”

All at once, he was on the ground, the heavy body of a man in his arms.

Archer looked down at a face so familiar, a face he had grown up with. His man-at-arms tried to smile, but there was blood on his teeth.

“Malcolm,” Archer gasped as his best friend winced in pain.

His hand was wet, and he lifted it to his face, only to see it stained red.

“Dinnae leave me,” Malcolm begged.

But then the man disappeared from Archer’s arms, replaced by another. Archer stared down at a face grimacing in pain.

“Faither.”

“Ye must finish this, son.”

“Please!” Archer cried, his chest tightening with sorrow.

Just then, he heard the keening of a woman in the distance, a siren calling out to usher the dead to their new homes. But no, it wasn’t a song of death. This was a song of comfort, a soothing voice pulling him to a different place. A happier place.

A breeze through his hair comforted him. The air seemed to push the sounds of the war away. Suddenly, the wind felt like fingers on his scalp, rubbing small circles, and the war and the bodies of his friends began to fade.

Archer felt like he was lifted into the air, the wind pulling him away from this place…

He noticed the sheets around his legs, twisted and oppressive. Then, there was the chill in his body, ice cold despite the sheen of sweat that covered him.

He was still stuck in that nightmare, struggling to break the surface. He could still hear that eerie singing, that voice beckoning him somewhere. And he could still feel fingers moving through his hair, like the wind in his dream.

With another breath, Archer dropped into reality. He felt a body close to him and someone touching his scalp. He moved without thinking, turning so he straddled the offender, trapping them between his strong thighs, his hands pinning their wrists to the bed.

“Archer!”

It was nearly dawn, and under the light filtering through the window, he could see Feya’s face, awash with shock. Her eyes searched his, desperate for him to recognize her, and he could sense her fear.

Archer blinked at her.

“Get off of me,” she hissed.

But Archer was too stunned to move. “What were ye doin’?”

She looked slightly embarrassed, as if she didn’t expect to be caught.

“Ye were having a nightmare,” she said carefully. “It isnae right to shock someone out of a dream state. Ye must bring them out gently.”

“Were ye singing to me?” he asked, narrowing his eyes, enjoying the opportunity to challenge her.

She shrugged. “It helps with me younger siblings,” she explained.

“And were ye… touching me hair?”

She averted her gaze, a beautiful pink creeping into her cheeks. Then, she looked back at him and nodded.

That simple gesture set Archer’s whole body on fire, leaving him stunned for the first time in his life. He felt his breath hitch in his throat, and he couldn’t keep his eyes from falling to her lips.

“Ye’re awake now, so get off me,” Feya said.

She pulled at her wrists, pushing her thighs against his as she struggled to break free.

It was too much for Archer; he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from pinning this struggling woman to the bed and showing her exactly what effect she was having on him.

He leaped up and out of the bed, digging his fingernails into his palms to compose himself.

“It’s morning,” Feya announced, as if he couldn’t see the sun streaming through the window. “Time to go.”

Archer was surprised by the panic rising in his chest. He was certain Feya would die if he let her go back to the castle. Just because he had killed the first men who chased her did not mean there wouldn’t be more. Cohen was in danger as long as Feya was alive.

But it wasn’t the only reason Archer was compelled to keep this feisty woman at his side. She had pulled him out of his nightmare, pulled him back from the horror that so frequently visited him.

No one had ever done that for him. Despite all the healers he had visited, this lass was the only one who had done something to help.

“What about our deal?”

She was already up and out of bed, readying herself to leave. Now, she froze and turned back to him.

“What deal?” she asked.

“Me reward. For saving ye. Ye said ye would give me anythin’.”

“I will,” she said earnestly. “I wasnae lying. Once I make sure me family is safe, I’ll come back to ye. Ye can name yer price.”

“I want ye to be me healer,” Asher said, lifting his chin as he regarded her. “But I willnae wait. Ye will come to Dougal Castle today.”

“Surely ye have a healer,” Feya said, frozen in place.

It felt like being around a wild animal with this man. She couldn’t predict what he would do or say from one moment to the next. She felt the need to move slowly, to choose her words carefully.

“Aye, but she’s getting old. She cannae help me with what I need.”

Archer was perched on the edge of the bed, still bare-chested after she had forbidden him from putting his soiled shirt back on.

He looked gentler this morning, more subdued. Perhaps it was the nightmare she had pulled him out of, a hint of darkness she was only beginning to understand.

“What ye need,” she repeated slowly. “Do ye need healing, Me Laird?”

It was the first time she had called him that, and she saw the look of surprise on his face. The title had come out unbidden.

Of course, he wasn’t her Laird. Though she had no idea who would take over, now that Laird McKenzie was dead.

“There are times…” His gaze dropped to the floor, and she worried he would not continue.

“Is it the nightmares?” she asked in the gentle tone she used at the sickbed. Soothing yet confident, to put her patients at ease.

“Aye.” Archer nodded. “Though they dinnae always come at night.”

Feya stepped closer and took a seat next to him, not touching him, but close enough so he would feel more comfortable. She could not forget his thrashing, the terror in his voice when he called out to someone.

“Ye see things… things ye shouldnae see?” she asked.

Archer scowled and shook his head. “I am nae crazy, lass. I dinnae see ghosts floating in the sky or talk to imaginary friends like some imbecile.”

“Nay,” Feya said, quickly realizing she had said the wrong thing. She needed to calm him down again, make him see that she understood. “Ye have flashes. Moments of memory when ye least expect them. Is that right?”

He looked at her, surprised, and she knew she had guessed correctly.

She nodded. “I’ve seen men with this condition before. After difficult times in battle. We call it soldier’s heart.”

“There’s nothing soldierly about it,” Archer growled, pushing to his feet. “‘It’s a weakness I must rid meself of. Something ye must rid me of.”

Feya had only met this man yesterday, but she felt a strong desire to help him. Something in her chest ached to hear that he was suffering, and she knew from the nightmare she had witnessed that this was no minor case.

Archer did need someone to help him. Someone who could cure him of these haunted memories before they ate up every last bit of his happiness.

But there were her siblings to think about. Morgana and Tormond. Ronnie and the twins. She had put them all in danger when she’d walked into Laird McKenzie’s chamber. She couldn’t abandon them now.

“I will help ye,” she said, and her heart broke to see the hope in his eyes that she would soon dash. “But I must see me family first. I must make sure that me sisters and braithers are safe. Then, I will come back to ye. Like I promised.”

“Stop, Feya.” Archer stepped back to the bed, moving so quickly that she had no time to react. He grabbed her hands and pulled her up from the bed, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Stop and think about this. Who saw the murderer?”

“I did,” she answered meekly.

“So, who is in danger?”

She knew what he wanted her to say, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“I cannae just leave them—” she protested.

Archer squeezed her hands, silently asking her to think. “Yer siblings dinnae ken who killed McKenzie. And the man who did willnae admit to it—It’s folly to do so. But if ye go back there, what then? The man will be forced to deal with ye, and it will put yer siblings at risk in the process.”

She looked up at him, her small hands swallowed by his larger ones. She could feel the warmth of his skin, the hard calluses on his palms. It was harder to breathe when he was this close to her, harder to think straight.

Was Archer seeing the situation more clearly, better able to weigh the pros and cons of going back there?

“Perhaps ye are right,” she relented, though it pained her to admit such a thing.

How could she stay away from her siblings? How would she live without knowing if they were safe? Without knowing if her foolish actions had brought harm to each one of them?

Archer hooked his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face to his. She gasped at the sudden movement, convinced he was going to kiss her. She watched his mouth, set in a hard line, so good at masking whatever he was feeling.

“Hear this,” he began. Feya stared into his gray eyes, unable to pull away.

“If ye come with me… If ye can heal me of this soldier’s heart , or whatever it is that’s tormenting me…

Heal me, and I will take ye back to McKenzie Castle meself.

I’ll take ye back to yer family. I’ve already saved yer life once, lass. Let me do it again.”

For a brief moment, his hand moved up the side of her face. She held her breath as she felt his calloused palm slide up her neck and then cup her cheek. She leaned into it—she couldn’t help herself. But just as quickly, his hand was gone.

Archer stepped back, putting distance between them, but her breath still came fast, and her neck and chest felt hot.

What were these emotions she was feeling? So confused and excited all at once.

The man in front of her was a monster who would kill without a second thought. Could she really agree to go with him?

But what if he was right? What if her return to her home would only put her siblings in danger?

“Alright,” she said, cutting through the silence. “I’ll go with ye.